Fish Are Friends Not Food
by LaKRipper
Summary: Squalo is fourteen when he kills the Sword Commander, cuts off his left hand, and then regrets it because he can't even play video games anymore. Squalo is also fourteen when he becomes a Varia assassin, inadvertently kills Timoteo's sons, and realises watching a one-minute clip of Dino is enough to either cure or cause depression. Young!Squalo, Pre-series.
1. Prologue

Squalo is fourteen when he kills the Sword Emperor, cuts off his own hand, and is offered the honour of commanding the Vongola's most elite assassination squad, the Varia.

It's actually a lot funnier than you'd expect. All these big, bulky men in black suits, with their black shades and earpieces, hands folded behind their back, backs ramrod straight, shoulders back, looking down in confusion at this short, one-handed teenager raising his eyebrows at them with a 'you're kidding, right?'

He refuses, of course. He's fourteen - are these people idiots? Yes, it is kind of his fault that there's a power vacuum, but that doesn't mean you drag a fourteen year old into being the head of an assassination squad.

No way he's going to let them shove all that crappy paperwork on him. And seriously, being an assassin is messed up as it is now, being an assassin for the Vongola is worse, but the Varia? Having to look over the place known for all the psychos, sadists, and weirdos? These people aren't just idiots, they're _insane_.

No, thanks. Trying to make sure Dino doesn't trip over air and get himself killed on a daily basis (weekends included) is enough of a headache-ridden attempt at leadership and group work and that kind of bullshit and holy crap _breathe, Squalo, breathe_.

Also, he has school.

Which means homework.

His mother is terrifying.

Which means a proper, well-rounded education that ensures he actually does know how to read and write in both Italian and English is essential, and, for some reason that has never explained to him, be perfectly fluent in Japanese.

Paperwork is terrifying. Among mafioso, it is in fact one of the root causes of fatigue and potentially fatal.

Did he mention his mother is terrifying? She can _smell_ fear.

There is a multitude of reasons for why Squalo wants nothing to do with being the Varia's boss. It's not until months later when he meets Xanxus that he realises that while there is a certain pride to being named commander, there is far more to pride oneself in by serving and shaping a great commander.

Squalo is offered the position of boss again then, because wow, they really made a ruckus of that power vacuum he made in March, and that Federico guy, one of the big candidates for Vongola Decimo, apparently got involved in a gunfight. Or maybe it was Enrico, but, let's be honest, it doesn't really matter anymore.

They may have been Timoteo's sons?

Ah. Squalo doesn't keep up with that.

Squalo very subtly suggests Xanxus (and by subtly, he means he yells it in the faces of semi-important figures, maybe a little more important than that, maybe the Vongola Nono), and gives a logical, carefully-construed account of the reasons why Xanxus would be both ruthless and exceptionally productive in such a position ("HE IS A CRUEL, HORRIBLE MURDERER THROUGH AND THROUGH! THERE IS NOTHING HE WOULDN'T DO FOR MONEY - except to kids, of course. We have morals. Your children will always be safe with us.").

Something along those lines.

Honestly, when he gets like that, Squalo doesn't really think about what he says.

Squalo is fourteen when he becomes the Second Sword Commander, declines the position of Varia's boss _twice_ , falls in love with someone who'd rather throw things at his head than kiss him, causes a power vacuum in the mafia world that begins the butterfly effect resulting in an idiot Japanese middle schooler becoming the best candidate for Vongola Decimo, and kind of regrets cutting his hand off because he can't even play video games any more.

He would feel bad, but Dino exists.

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* * *

Unedited hehe. This came out on a random whim. Why Squalo, I don't know, but he's cool. Why the Reborn fandom, I don't know. I always say I'm going to start a new drabble series and omg it's gonna be so great, but no. This fic is actually going to be a lot darker than it seems. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that to feel less tasteless, but eh.

I think this is what people refer to as 'shitposting'. Except it's fan fiction, of course.

LaKRipper :)


	2. Kill Sword Emperor, Check

The stump of where his hand once was is tingling.

Squalo can barely think beyond making sure his breathing is right. His eyes shut and his mouth wide open as all he focuses on is breathing, and the rest of his limbs may as well be dead, but the ghost of his left hand is numb and buzzing as if it has pins and needles.

It wants _more_ , hungers for the next thing, to feel that rush of a well-earned kill afterward, I mean, his hand is gone but it's climaxed to something momentous and is this the part where Squalo mellows out and then dies for the next emperor like Tyr - wait, how long has this battle been going for - wait.

He thinks, he breathes in deep, that he's aged a hundred years, and he could die now and feel content with the life he's lived, all fourteen years of hard work and dedication to the sword. He could die here and now, lying down in the middle of nowhere. He doesn't need anything else than this moment. What is glory and arrogance, he doesn't know. This, this pride is knowing he was worth enough to defeat and finally kill the Sword Emperor, make the older man the First Sword Emperor, and become the Second Sword Emperor himself. Perhaps there will be a Third Sword Emperor, since he's pretty much made it a thing.

It's taken him four years, but he's here now, finally killing off the old, pretentious asshole literally named after a Norse god.

He's won.

So why does he feel like he's missing something?

A hundred metres away at a safe distance, Lussuria smiles softly, and cuts off the video, "LOOKING GOOD SQU-CHAN! JUST ONE HUNDRED MORE FIGHTS TO GO TO STAY SWORD EMPEROR!"

...Oh. Right.

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* * *

thanks for the sweet reviews :) I actually wrote a heck of a lot nonstop (despite the fact that i was very, _very_ behind in uni). im talking staying up to sunrise just to keep writing. never happens. wow. will update on sundays (even tho it's friday morning hehe).


	3. Get Knocked Out With A Slap, Check

When Squalo wakes up in the barracks of the Varia headquarters, he has no idea what time it is, what day it is, and he is terrified, because he hasn't been home in days and his mother will kill him on sight.

He thought he was dead the last time, but now… Surely, this time she will go through with it.

It's completely dark in this room, probably no windows. It also smells weird.

Fortunately, he didn't take any major hits in the battle, but his limbs are sore and he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep again.

" _You know, this wouldn't happen if you stretched before and after exercising, and drank water regularly! You have to get rid of the toxins in your body somehow, why don't you listen to me, your mother, why are you like this, did I really spend ten hours of labour just to have a son like you-"_

Breathe in - breathe out. Breathe in - breathe out.

...Why is it so dark in here anyway? The barracks have windows. Sunlight is important to making sure all the lazy fuckers in the Varia are sufficiently annoyed enough to wake up in the morning. Squalo manages to wake up before sunrise, get ready for the day, and be out and training just as the sun rises in the east. He gets back an hour later, cleans up, and goes off to school, just as the first of people start to get up as well.

Wait. Wait a damn second.

There are only two places dark enough to be pitch black in the day. Both underground sections: one dedicated to the most chilling, cruel operation instigated by the Vongola, and the other being the Varia's torture and interrogation unit.

Squalo stops breathing, holding his breath. He listens to the slow but steadily increasing rate of his heart.

The last person he saw, before collapsing after his fight with Tyr, was Lussuria.

The silver-haired boy opens his mouth, eyes wides, taking in shallow breaths, and stares up at what he thinks is the ceiling.

That's when he starts screaming at the top of his lungs.

Lussuria squawks awake and knocks the boy out with a slap, screaming about a silver-haired woman running after him with a sword.

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When Lussuria drags Squalo's limp form back to his house, Lussuria can't tell who's more dead: Squalo for not coming home for four days and missing three schooldays, or Lussuria himself, for watching and letting it happen.

Perhaps he should have taken the boy home in the first place, but dragging him home bloody and beaten would not have gone well. The logical first place, Lussuria went for the Varia's headquarters, but considering the outrage there would be over Squalo killing the boss, Lussuria couldn't carry the boy off to his own bed.

Lussuria's…personal basement...was a perfectly rational choice. No one comes down there. He could take care of any cuts and bruises easily with the…medical…supplies he kept on hand.

Lussuria has his own problems here right now, but who knows what's going on above the basement.

Now that Squalo has semi-recovered (he's still passed out from before), he can at least defend himself from being strangled in his sleep.

And now Lussuria might be strangled while he's awake, fully aware that he isn't capable of stopping it.

Ugh. The things he does for this boy.

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* * *

keep in mind: of all the people in squalo's life, lussuria is the most normal. yes, the same guy who dyed his hair green, has a weird haircut and has an unhealthy interest in dead people. that lussuria. also, the T-rating means swearing is supposed to be milder. oh well. ill just edit that in later. thanks for reading!

LaKRipper


	4. Evade Idiot Infection From Dino, Check

The world changes when he kills Tyr, the guy named after a Norse god (has he not mentioned that?). What 'nice' parents.

Of course, Squalo can't talk. But.

The universe shifts, twists and turns as it tries to deal with the aftermath of the death of the First Sword Emperor, and decide the place of the Second Sword Emperor's. There's a power vacuum left where Tyr was, and Squalo refuses to fill it.

Most of the other students have either learned to leave Squalo alone, or are too scared of the rumours surrounding him, perpetuated by, you know, the lack of left hand appendage.

Among the children of upper-echelon mafioso, Squalo is different for the fact that he is a cold-blooded assassin. A _Varia_ assassin. While his classmates lived their expensive lives and engaged in petty fights, Squalo honed his skill with the sword. When he had begun school at the ripe age of six, he had been pissed off that swords were prohibited. Really, he had been pissed off he had to get an education in the first place, but he wouldn't dare to mention that to his mother. All of it is enough to announce to the world that he wasn't interested in any of their games, or them, even if they had particular skill in the sword, because experience told him it would be a disappointment anyway. They had enough practice of their foray into mafia life to know who wasn't meant to be messed with. He wasn't a stuck up rich boy, he was the real deal.

The exception to everything, as always, is Dino.

"Squalo!"

The headache of the day begins; someone save him.

"I heard about the fight," Dino begins, the smile on his face bright enough to light up the whole room.

Squalo presses his lips into a line. Not bright enough to light Squalo up though.

As much as the other boy's presence causes him physical pain, Squalo could admit he didn't hate the other boy. It isn't as if they were close friends or anything, but in the few times they interact, Squalo could say eighty-five percent of the time, Dino is an idiot and a nuisance, and as for the rest he is… a refreshing change.

Dino had never recoiled away from Squalo when he had come to school with lack of hand. The boy hid and recovered from any shock easily, genuinely intrigued when Squalo explained how he wanted to understand the Sword Emperor's sword technique, and then understand how to defeat it. It was nice to have some positive feedback from someone other than his father, who had grunted in approval and then turned back to work, or his mother, who had begun a story about how she was back in her day.

Dino laughs loudly, ignoring the glare thrown his way, and throws an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders and mussing up his hair. "Congrats. How long have you been trying to do this? Two years?"

Squalo scowls, and pushes the boy away before the universe decides to drag him in with the bad karma that would eventually ensue. A staircase is coming up. "Of course _you_ would assume two years is all it takes to hone such sophisticated skill. I have been preparing for this my whole life."

"So, four-" Dino slips.

The silver-haired boy side steps as the boy falls, and leisurely steps downwards. Squalo runs a hand through his hair and fixes it as well as he can without a mirror. "Hurry up, you have class," he says without looking down. He is merciful enough to wait on the landing.

Dino moans, and rubs the bridge of his nose as he brings himself to stand. There is no blood today. "Four… fourteen years, huh? What does it feel like to be Sword Emperor?"

"What is it supposed to feel like? It's not as if I get an empire." Satisfaction. Pride. Happiness. Squalo thinks that if he lives for anything, what his mother lives for herself and aspires for him, it would be that feeling of pride and satisfaction in fulfilling a promise you've made to yourself, with your own hands and working yourself down to the ground and looking to it every single waking moment. Squalo was prepared to die that day whether he won or lost, he can still remember the adrenalin humming in his blood when he realised he'd been fighting for over a day, that he'd pushed _the Sword Emperor_ so hard, and now all he can think of is what the future could hold. "If I want to stay emperor, I have to battle a hundred people."

The ghost of his left hand hums, and he grins all shark-like, eyes smug.

All it took was one taste, and now he wants more?

Dino stares at him, and for a second, Squalo thinks the boy sees something Squalo doesn't want him to see.

"What?" he snaps.

The blonde looks away with a grin. "Nothing."

Fuck no. Squalo grabs Dino's arm with the kind of grip he uses on his targets, and with teeth bared, he snarls lowly, "What?"

Dino grins all the while, unperturbed by the grip that Squalo knows feels like it's gradually tightening around to bone, a burst of - _pride_? What? "I think that's the first time I've ever seen you happy."

"...What?"

Dino shakes his head, and slips his arm easily away from Squalo's arm, which has loosened in his confusion. "Later, then. I'm going to be late."

Squalo continues to be confused, staring after the blonde who's actually… more perceptive than he's given credit for. It's actually quite interesting. And impressive. Perhaps, when he does grow older, Dino will be a more than capable boss for the Cava-

And that is when Dino trips over his own ankle.

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Talk of Squalo's fighting a guy literally called the _Sword Emperor_ (what is this, anime? We are the mafia, we have standards)and winning spreads throughout the school as fast as that time a mafioso's daughter got pregnant by a rival family's son. Romeo and Juliet cliche, but not actually that common. The rumours failed to mention that Squalo had _killed_ the man, or else they wouldn't be speaking about it so fervently.

The talk of the day, the fourteen-year-old, one-handed swordsman, and he was talked about so much that _everyone_ had heard.

Including one red-eyed, black-haired Xanxus.

Some idiots had sat in close proximity to his resting spot. And they had idiotically spoke of the silver-haired swordsman, and Xanxus had heard too much before he growled in their direction.

They hadn't even realised he was there. They paled in realising who the mad dog was, and scurried off like rats before they could be picked off and made into splats on the ground like them.

A one-armed swordsman? What an idiot. Unless he had the muscle to make up for it, which Xanxus doubts he himself has, there's no way a fourteen-year-old brat could last for much longer. The Sword Emperor had already peaked anyway. The Varia doesn't need weak trash like Tyr if he's going to be taken down in a straight fight. The head of the Varia needs strength, and his position demands a physicality that isn't needed by, say, Timoteo, whose duties fall on a sharp mind and a well of wisdom. And the boy won't last at all if he takes the position, Xanxus can be assured of that. He'll take care of it himself if he has to. Maybe take over that way.

It pisses him off.

He's taken back when he realises he's angry at himself.

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When it comes out later that the boy had refused, and had actually _questioned their intelligence_ in putting an elite squad in the hands of a fourteen year old child, Xanxus is pissed off that some arrogant little shit rejected something that Xanxus wants for himself, and embarrassed because ... where did that leave him?

But above all, he's relieved.

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* * *

yay! something semi-long! what is this you ho you can't drop something like this all of a sudden. and dino is here, bc he is an adorable puppy who is precious and deserves the world. will have his own plot (MAYBE. I PROMISE NOTHING), probs not from his POV tho. and xanxus has to have something other than sheer rage and a tendency towards violence going for him. he's a thinker! also, atm it seems like his catchphrase is more '...What?' and less 'VOIIII!'. Don't question it. Yet. tanks to everyone.

LaKRipper


	5. Refuse Varia Boss Position, Check

"You're joking, right?"

The vice's shoulders visibly tense, as do every other man in the room, but the stern expression on Ottavio's face remains the same.

Squalo can't tell if the dozen, black-suited men situated around Ottavio are meant for protection, or intimidation on account of pride. Maybe protection, but Squalo doesn't need a sword to get rid of Ottavio, and it's insulting for anyone to assume Ottavio is even worth the effort. Maybe intimidation, but none of these men could touch Tyr, and they sure as hell couldn't touch Squalo. To think otherwise is an insult. Squalo sits with a straight back in the uncomfortable chair, as politely as he can.

"Mister Sup-"

"Squalo," he interjects loudly, and restrains himself from glaring.

Ottavio is silenced in that moment. Assassins in the Varia do not have surnames. They don't exist.

Idiot. No wonder they were asking for Squalo. It probably took a lot for Ottavio to accept his own worthlessness.

The blonde-haired man pushes his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, and exhales through his mouth in a tired sigh. Squalo doesn't take the pity, woe-is-me bait. "The Varia cannot function without an appropriate boss."

 _Obviously. Look at the mess you've made of yourself_. A real boss would not let his emotions or weaknesses be so obvious.

Squalo doesn't know if he can be polite if he's still talking, so he nods, the most basic respect he can offer.

Ottavio stares at him for a good ten seconds, probably expecting Squalo to take control of the conversation, but it isn't Squalo's mess to clean up. Ottavio looks down at the papers on his desk, which are probably irrelevant but he's pretending they are so he doesn't have to look at Squalo's blank, disinterested gaze. "You would be the perfect candidate. You're strong, capable, and you've had impromptu experience heading a team of four, and was successful against all odds."

"I'm also fourteen."

"Lussuria said you took charge easily, and no one had any room for objections. Mammon recommended you. Levi has no problem with you taking lead."

That's because the other two on the team looked like they were going into shock, on the particular mission, Mammon is impressed with Squalo from the lack of complaint when they pair up on missions, and Levi doesn't care who takes the position as long as he can kiss ass.

Squalo raises an eyebrow, "and Morette?"

That rude asshole who just stares at Squalo's left arm whenever he's around. The older man is close with Ottavio.

Ottavio looks confused. "He's not… he isn't important enough to have an opinion."

Squalo stands up from his chair, and stops himself from rolling his eyes when the body guards reach for their guns. "No, thanks. I have enough problems."

"Squalo, _you_ caused this. You have to take responsibility."

"It's not my mess to clean up," the silver-haired boy parrots in monotone, the disgust on his face enough to show how hard it was to hold back on his superior. "I'm an assassin. I kill. I let other people clean it up. And that's _your_ responsibility. If you were even the slightest bit competent, maybe you could be Boss."

It's enough to pacify the man, the frustration draining from his face to give way for the bags underneath his eyes and the crease of wrinkles on his forehead. "Squalo-"

"No. And that's final."

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That night, Enrico of the Vongola, is shot and killed in a gunfight involving members of unknown families. It occurred at a modest bar that Enrico frequented, and over drinks and tobacco, an argument over the state of the Vongola escalated into a violent altercation, and the death of who was considered the rightful heir to the Vongola Nono.

No men have come forward, more likely out of shame than fear.

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* * *

squalo's first refusal. his actions reverberate throughout history and ironically results in the candidacy of a 14 y/o kid who will one day beat up squalo's boss. nice one.

LaKRipper


	6. Avoid Being Killed By Mother, Check

"I just don't understand why you can't do both."

Squalo takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that this is the mother whom he loves dearly, and that if there is anything in this world that terrifies him, she is at the root of it.

It's just not worth it.

"That Cavallone boy is being trained by a tutor, has his duties as heir, has school, and still manages to make it home for dinner. If you applied yourself better instead of slacking off, you would be able to have it all. I told you it was a bad idea in the first place to join the Varia at such a young age. It's not as if you can test your skills against any of your targets."

Squalo is an only child, something that was likely very carefully and tactfully made so by his father. Sharks do, after all, eat their siblings in the womb, and there wasn't place for another sword prodigy in their little family.

Sometimes, he wonders, that if he had had even one other sibling, preferably a sister to take the brunt, his blood pressure would have been better.

While Squalo's father is a quiet, calculating, behind-the-scenes type of man, Squalo's mother is a bloodthirsty woman with shark teeth bared in a predatory smile, long silver hair that belies her true nature until she turns around and looks you in the eyes, and a shrieking voice that has in the past been high and loud enough to burst eardrums. His medical records prove it.

It is needless to say that Squalo takes a little too much after his mother.

As long as he doesn't do anything crazy, like not cut his hair for a year, it's okay.

"Mother-"

" _Ma_!" she hisses. "Call me 'Ma'!"

"Ma," he tries to pacify. "I can't help what work wants from me. It's better if I stay in the barracks. They'll kill me if I try to quit anyway."

She scoffs, and skillfully throws clean, dried plates into place inside the pantry, the screeching sound of china scratching against each other, to her ears, akin to the background sounds of children's laughter on a sunny day. "It's only the Varia. Kill them right back. You offed the boss last month easily. I'm sure you can get rid of the rest too."

Squalo wants to say 'no, you scary ass hag, who the hell are you, talking about the Vongola's most elite squad like it's nothing,' but holds back with, "unless you're offering, I don't think I can kill someone back after they've killed me."

She harrumphs. "Well, I did warn you about shady places like that. We could always stage a disowning, and you can go into hiding."

"That sounds a little dramatic, Mother, don't you thi-"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" It is instinct (or perhaps genetics) that drives her to brandish a large chef's knife and swing it around like a sword. "I TRY SO HARD AND ALL YOU DO IS COMPLAIN! WHAT DID I DO WRONG IN RAISING YOU? TELL ME! WHAT DID I DO THAT WAS SO WRONG TO HAVE A CHILD LIKE YOU?"

"WHAT? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM _ME_? I HAVEN'T COMPLAINED AT ALL!"

"ALL YOU DO IS COMPLAIN ABOUT HOW HARD YOUR LIFE IS, WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT YOUR FATHER? ALL I ASK FOR IS YOU TO COME HOME FOR DINNER AND YOU CAN'T EVEN DO THAT!"

"WHAT ABOUT _ME_? I'VE BEEN WORKING MY ASS OFF FOR YEARS AND YOU NEVER ACKNOWLEDGE IT!"

"HOW DARE YOU BE SO UNGRATEFUL, I AM YOUR MOTHER! I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU! I WASTED TEN HOURS OF LABOUR PAINS ON YOU WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN TRAINING!"

Squalo's father pipes in, "Dear, I'm ready to go whenever both of you are ready."

"EXCUSE ME, WHO THE…" Squalo's mother falters, and goes red, "Oh… Oh my, sorry, dear." She turns back to her son, confused. "What were we talking about again?"

Squalo sucks in air through gritted teeth, shakes his head, and moves to carry his things to the car.

It just…it isn't worth it.

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* * *

because behind every violent, angry male is an even worse mother to put him in his place. bakugo (bnha) is supporting evidence.


	7. Interlude A

He hates it.

It's ridiculously long, longer than even a woman's, the lustrous silver locks maintained just as well, and he despises it.

Of all the things the man chooses to show his loyalty, he chose _hair_.

Xanxus has half a mind to cut the damn thing off himself, but there is no way Squalo would let him.

The sheer arrogance of it all grates on his nerves. Few people would dare grow their hair out so long, especially when battle is on the schedule twenty-four-seven. Grab onto a single hair, and you're done. Xanxus has never managed to grab onto the hair before, which makes it even more annoying.

That doesn't even cover how eye catching the colour of Squalo's particular hair is. Black, brown, blonde, red - no other colour possesses the same liability of silver, when the ethereal sheen of it is so bright in the moonlight, it captures attention even in the corner of your eye. Xanxus can never keep the damn shark out of his head. Squalo's presence is loud and oppressive, demanding to be seen, even without opening his mouth. The irony of how accomplished the man is as an assassin lends itself well. Xanxus' mind always goes back to eight years ago, when pipsqueak Squalo still had that weird haircut, the one that was a combination of bangs and a duck butt. His eyes hard and unfeeling at first glance, angry the next.

The black-haired man had assumed the short silver-haired boy to be an emotionless husk who killed whenever told to. Xanxus was wrong.

No one else had looked at him like Squalo had. Squalo's eyes are wide and slanted, always narrowed into what should be a glare, but the effect is lost because of how dull, flat, and disinterested he is. It's only when he's pissed off that he doesn't look dead.

Xanxus can only imagine what eight years has done to the boy, shooting up in height, the boy's emotionless and almost soulless state becoming angrier and truer to its nature. The iron-clad fist with which he binds the Varia together, befriending Lussuria of all people, parenting Bel at age fourteen, keeping Mammon under control, placating Levi. Little things like Squalo's progressive insanity, which really just comes with the job, but is strangely endearing. The thought of his yelling and screaming makes the black-haired man smirk. The first day Xanxus was back, the steak presented was to _perfection_ , even though he can't remember when Squalo had ever cooked.

Yet, at the same time, there's a blockade between them. That feeling of looking in through the glass window, like when he was a child and looked to the fathers that laughed and mounted their children on shoulders. Tickled and chased them through their shrieks of laughter.

Xanxus wants to pull out every single one of the hairs on Squalo's head, out of both spite and self-loathing, because there's not point if Xanxus wasn't there to watch it grow.

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* * *

narrowly managed to pass one of my courses. did not write anything for NaNoWriMo. i am an idiot?


	8. Successfully Rant to Xanxus, Check

Squalo's never been to Milan, and he's never wanted to go either. Besides a few ragtag groups and level one crooks, no mafioso has touched Milan in decades. The last time someone tried, they bit off more than they could chew, and were taken care of by law enforcement within a few months. Not a very good lifespan considering there have been families lasting well over hundreds of years - like, for example, the Vongola.

It's unnerving, coming up to the North like this. The Vongola's influence spans over Europe, all the way east to the land of the rising sun, but within its own country? Nope.

He likes to think it's due to some political or cultural bullshit, or some honour code he doesn't care about. And that should make Squalo want to fuck everything up and take the fashion capital by storm, by any means necessary, including a combination of taking up professional modeling in the day and assassinating the competition by night, if it wasn't for one thing:

 _Tourists_. The horde of tourists from all over the globe, from the Asians in their cute little tour groups, to the Brits with the indecipherable English (you invented the fucking language, learn how to fucking enunciate), and the fake people who call themselves Italian but eat at Domino's when they visit Milan. Squalo despises them all, because one of his virtues is that he does not discriminate, and he hates all people of all races equally. May the Lord forgive him, but there is probably few things in life he imagines is more satisfying than squeezing the life out of every damn tourist that asks him to take a photo or asks if he's a model or asks for directions or _for fuck's sake, stop fucking eating, you assholes! Jesus Christ, that's the Last Supper! Have some fucking respect!_

Disgusting. The utter disrespect.

Too many damn tourists. Too pretty a picture of what Italy is supposed to look like. Nothing like the backstreets of Naples, bleeding out to almost nothingness in the filth of it, getting rid of bodies from train stations and wondering if the blood will just look like graffiti. Nothing like having his head dunked under Lake Garda's pretty waters, the sound of kids playing in the background ringing in his ears like white noise. Milan is the kind of place where its dirty business is played out elsewhere. No one wants Naomi to walk on a bloodstained runway. No one wants _The Last Supper_ to be desecrated. It's bad for business.

It's a pretty thought; the only places mafioso, polizia, and civilians are truly safe within Italia is in art galleries, museums, churches, and theatres.

God, he hates it. It is quite possibly his only weakness.

That, and his monthly cannoli, but if anyone tries to use it against him - well, he is very willing to cut a bitch. Squalo has spent the last couple of days in Milan doing very little - no one could even be bothered to give him some useless recon mission as something to do - and he has had just enough to be ready to kill someone.

On these off days, he at the very least had Lussuria to fall back on, but he's been training in Bangkok and won't get a break for the next month. Mammon would be a great next option, albeit Squalo couldn't afford it considering his shitty salary. Levi would have been tolerable, and Morette's a fucking creep, but any one of these four options would have been better.

At his core, Squalo is a thinker. He likes to think, he likes to think about everything that annoys him, he likes to imagine destroying said things that annoy him, and he likes to rant and bitch at people.

So, where does he begin?

The guy's name is Xanxus. XANXUS. What kind of pretentious name is that? Who named him? His father? His idiotic older brother who cracked open a crappy fantasy book, mixed the letters up a bit, and thought it would be cool? Sure, Squalo can't say much considering his name means _shark_ , but in this case, yes, yes he can.

The guy hasn't said a thing since before they've even gotten into the damn car. Let Squalo repeat: NOT A SINGLE FUCKING THING IN THE LAST HOUR. And considering how slow the traffic is, SQUALO IS NOT HAPPY.

Squalo is trying. He's tried _so_ hard to get some kind of a response, even ended up going the 'so... the weather's pretty nice, huh' route, and he hasn't even gotten back a 'hmm'! The only thing holding him back from beheading the fuckwit is the fact that they are in a car, and Squalo cannot afford to pay for the damages.

What makes literally anyone else a better option? That Squalo can bitch to them about shitty tourists and yell and scream and they will pretend to listen. And if not that, then the other person will bitch and be annoying as fuck, and Squalo will have the pleasure of cutting a bitch.

The driver looks up at him in the rearview mirror, concerned. "Mr Superbi, sir, are you alright?"

Squalo, his face set, his mother's voice in his head reminding him to be professional, says, "Shut the fuck up, and drive."

The driver shuts the fuck up, and drives.

And then Squalo hears it. The driver doesn't - the sound of turbulent air. Like someone exhaling through their nose sharply.

Squalo's eyes, slowly, disbelievingly, move to look at Xanxus.

Was that… a laugh?

Squalo blinks, and he actually stares at the other boy for more than two seconds.

He doesn't know why but… for some reason, he's always thought of Xanxus as violent, short-tempered, and most importantly, reckless. He's heard enough of the 'mad dog' to have the image of a mindless murder machine preconceived, but Squalo can admit that the other boy may have … or appear to have … some form of intellect. People who don't speak, to Squalo, might as well not be able to, because they're either dead-dead or brain-dead.

(Unless of course they have a specific impairment that prevents them from doing so, such as deafness, muteness or any other impairment, or any combination of such impairments, and in which case, Squalo would like to formally apologise because he does not discriminate such persons specifically, so please do not report him to Human Resources, the Vongola take that shit seriously.)

Dead-dead or brain-dead may not be applicable to Xanxus.

Seeing the other boy now, he is calm. Xanxus is only a few years older, but he's infuriatingly taller. One long leg loosely folded over the other. Arm casually along the windowsill, his head held up by his head and he looks out the window, perhaps deep in thought, or acting like he is, to discourage conversation with Squalo. Like, what the fuck is up with that, why is he posing as if he's in an expensive watch advert? Why does he get to look like a twenty-something, powerful CEO in a shitty Korean drama when Squalo has the 'rosy, cherubic cheeks' of a six-year old and the body of a twenty-five-year old athlete?

But, there's something there. Something he can work with.

So, Squalo does what he does best, and faces him head on, sword and all.

"Did you just fucking ... _laugh_ at me?"

The driver continues to shut up and drive.

.

.

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* * *

*Domino's Pizza opened its first restaurant in Italy in 2015. I'm going to pretend that happened in the 2000s (where I'm kind of setting this story, even though my stupidass occasionally uses refs from the 2010s) bc it is just hilarious.

Hi old readers and new ones. Haha. Funny story: I thought the last time I had uploaded was a year ago, so when I saw the update date as 2018 I went yayyy. And then I realised it was 2020.

Okay, that isn't funny at all, I'm sorry I try uni is hard. More Xanxus next time. This fic is literally just Squalo fucking around (well not literally fucking around bc he is like 14), and is my crappy attempts at humour. I apologise for my parentheses, but not remorseful.

Review, Fave, Follow, Flame, Like and Subscribe, the whole shebang

LaKRipper


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